


A Very Winchester Christmas

by HunterPeverell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Domestic Winchesters, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Episode: s11e09 O Brother Where Art Thou, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:04:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little fluff in the Bunker at Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Winchester Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own at all.
> 
> This takes place BEFORE "O Brother Where Art Thou". I figure that episode happens _after_ Christmas, in the January region. And who cares? It can exist in a universe where that episode doesn't exist/doesn't exist yet. Take your pick and enjoy!

“Sammy, it snowed!” Dean shouted, his voice faint.

Sam shared a glance with Cas, who was sitting across from him. They had a few books near them, but Sam was reading a few old _Ellery Queen_ novels he had found in one of the rooms. Cas was reading _The Chronicles of Narnia_ and seemed to be enjoying it immensely.

“It usually happens this time of year,” Sam yelled back.

“Not this much,” Dean said, his voice drawing closer. “Dude, I think we’re actually snowed in.”

“What?” Sam stood up, shadowed by Cas, and headed in his brother’s direction.

Dean was standing in the ramp of the garage, looking out at the secret entrance that let the Impala hide from satellites. Sam’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the three feet of snow that greeted him. The sky was grey, and snow was still falling. Dean was dressed in his jeans and plaid shirt, but the dead man’s bathrobe was slung over that. He looked positively gleeful, his green eyes more alive than Sam had seen them in years. Dean slung an arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulled the shorter man closer to the snow. Their feet disturbed some of the powdery snow that had fallen in when Dean had opened the doors.

“Look at that, Cas,” Dean said. “Snow on Christmas!”

“That is the holiday where gift giving is a prominent tradition, correct?”

“Yeah,” Dean looked over at Sam. “We should do Christmas this year.”

Sam shot him a look. “We haven’t done Christmas since before you went to Hell.”

Dean shrugged awkwardly, one arm still draped over Cas. “Yeah, well, let’s do it this year.”

“We don’t have a tree,” Sam pointed out.

Dean looked out at the trees surrounding them. “One of ‘em will do.”

“What? Dean no.”

“Dean yes,” Dean said and spun around, marching back into the Bunker to find an axe, presumably. Cas and Sam exchanged a glance before following him.

“What is Christmas?” Cas asked as they entered the garage and headed to the stairs to the rest of the Bunker.

“It’s a celebration,” Sam said. “It’s a Christian celebration with many pagan undertones. Today it usually has present giving, food, and crappy movies.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “Don’t dis _Home Alone_ dude. That little kid is evil.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah he is.”

“We’ve never celebrated Christmas with Cas,” Dean said. “First for everything!”

“Dean and I will probably get drunk,” Sam said. “Just letting you know.”

Cas looked at him. “How is that different from normal?”

“One word, Cas: Eggnog.” Dean said and headed off to the weapons storage to get a suitable axe.

“C’mon,” Sam said. “Since I wasn’t actually expecting to do Christmas, let’s see what we can find that will work for gifts.”

Sam and Dean had lived in the Bunker for three years, and there were still rooms that were unexplored and dusty. Sam had begun working through them methodically, trying to organize them, but things had gone south the last two years and that had fallen off his to-do list.

Sam led them there now, and he and Cas began shifting through the boxes that did not hold books or were marked off-limits. It there was one thing Sam liked about the Men of Letters, it was that they made sure people knew what was dangerous and what was not. There were many rooms that held these items, and Sam soon left Cas to search on his own.

Sam managed to find some vintage porn for Dean and a protection bracelet for Cas that (according to the helpful label attached) would speed up his healing in a fight.

Smiling in satisfaction, Sam checked in with Cas, who was still searching, and headed up to his room where there were some newspapers he could use as wrapping. As he reentered the main level, he heard Dean cursing and fought back a laugh. He was feeling lighter than he had in a while. The angel war, the Mark, the Darkness . . . today it did not seem to matter.

He clutched his two wrapped presents closer to his chest as he entered the library. Dean was looking at the small pine tree he had wrestled into position with pride. The radio on a small side table was playing “Jingle Bell Rock” and somewhere Dean had found tinsel and baubles to hang on the tree. Two presents were already under the tree, already wrapped in actual wrapping paper.

Sam looked at the scene in bemusement. “Did you actually prepare for Christmas this year?”

Dean looked over at Sam, his eyes soft in a way Sam had not seen in a long time. “Maybe?”

Sam took a moment to survey the room. In addition to the tree, Dean had added the projector and had somehow hooked that up to a portable DVD player. Sam snorted when he saw a few of the titles, but at the top was _Home Alone_. Apparently Dean was quite excited to show Cas the movie. Sam was too, come to think of it.

Sam shook his head and added his two presents.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.

“Still looking,” Sam said. “He seemed to like the idea of gift giving.”

“You’d think he—” Dean shook his head, the momentary sadness leaving his expression. “Of course he would.” He shot a small grin at Sam and headed to the kitchen.

Sam followed him and watched as Dean pulled a few bottles of eggnog out of the refrigerator and snag a few glasses. He poured some rum in the glasses and filled the rest with the eggnog. He passed one to Sam and raised his glass.

“Cheers.”

Sam clinked his glass against Dean’s. “Yeah.”

They drank in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Sam swirled the remnants of his drink around the bottom of his glass, the milky substance clinging to the side of the glass. The alcohol tasted pleasant in his throat.

“Can’t believe it’s been eleven years,” Dean said suddenly.

“What?” Sam asked.

“It’s been eleven years since I got you from Stanford.” Dean wasn’t looking at him, but Sam could see the new tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Sam said slowly.

“Do you ever regret it?” Dean asked. “Leaving? Hunting again?”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

“But you did.”

Sam shrugged. “Yeah. But this is my life, Dean. I love it. It sucks sometimes, most of the time,” he amended under Dean's stare. “But . . . I wouldn’t give it up. Not for anything.”

“All the crap that’s happened to us. You wouldn’t wish that away?”

“No,” Sam said. “It’s . . . kinda made me who I am today, I guess. We’ve done a lot of bad, but we’ve done a lot of good, too, Dean.”

Dean looked at him, his expression strange. Sam was used to being able to read Dean’s face like he would any book, but now he found Dean unreadable.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean said, so softly Sam was not sure if he heard him.

Before the brothers could talk any more, Cas appeared in the doorway. “I have found my gifts.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, his enthusiasm back, lighting his eyes up once more. Sam smiled as he watched Dean guide Cas back to the tree, explaining why presents were wrapped to Cas, who had not wrapped his.

“Present time!” Dean crowed. He snagged his gifts and shoved one at Sam and one at Cas. Sam watched Cas carefully unwrap his. Dean had gotten Cas an iPod, preloaded with music. Cas clicked a button, apparently remembering what an iPod was from his stint as a human. The tinny chords of _Believe it or Not_ from The Greatest American Hero filtered through the buds. Cas smiled slightly and looked up at Dean, his eyes painfully sincere.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“It was no problem,” Dean said, embarrassed.

Sam tore his paper off to find hair care products—including garden shears. He rolled his eyes, but thanked Dean nonetheless.

“Maybe now you’ll cut it,” Dean said.

“Not a chance,” Sam retorted and set his “gift” on the table behind him.

Sam’s presents were next. Dean laughed at his porn and flipped through it, showing Sam and Cas a few of the more lewd pictures. Sam groaned and shoved Cas’ present at the angel. Cas put the bracelet on his wrist and fingered it gently. Dean refrained from commenting on the jewelry, and instead looked fondly at Cas as the angel adjusted it on his wrist.

Then Cas withdrew his presents from his coat and gave them both to Sam and Dean.

Sam’s was a knife with writing along the side, much like Ruby’s.

“This knife is used for rituals,” Cas said. “The writing along the side works much like my bracelet. It allows blood to flow, but as soon as the required amount has left the body, the skin heals and any other damage—such as to any nerves that may have been cut—will heal.”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean said. “The Men of Letters just had that lying around? That is _awesome_.”

“Thank you, Cas,” Sam said, touched. “This is amazing.”

Cas smiled shyly, pleased that Sam liked it.

Dean’s gift was a photograph. It was of the three of them together. Sam judged it to be three years old, going by the light in Dean’s eyes, and the length of his hair. It was the year after Dean had come back from Purgatory and Cas had been used by Naomi and the Trials had messed him up.

In the picture they were all standing beside the Impala, Dean with his arm slung around Cas’ shoulders and Sam with his head tilted back, laughing at something. Cas’ face was half hidden, but it was clear from the side that they could see the angel was smiling.

“I had the cashier take it,” Cas said. “Then went back to retrieve the camera. I know that humans like pictures because it reminds them of the past, and even though our past is . . . not good . . . there were times that I remember very fondly—”

Cas’ speech was cut off when Dean grabbed him and pulled him into a hug, the picture clutched carefully in his fingers.

“Cas,” Dean said, his voice slightly muffled. “It’s great.”

Cas carefully returned the hug, as though he was still unsure what to do. Sam leaned back in his chair, the knife forgotten in his hand, and looked at Dean and Cas, his friends and his family all rolled into one. They had few allies, the world was still going to Hell, and he may have to go to the Cage, but here, now, everything was perfect.

Here the Winchesters were happy.


End file.
